


Hell's Princess

by GentlyMad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Dean, Background Destiel, Dysfunctional Family, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Kevin Lives, M/M, Schmoop, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, canon be damned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentlyMad/pseuds/GentlyMad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprise guest is dropped off to visit Crowley at the Bunker. Fluff and shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell's Princess

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Uncle Crowley's Adventures in Babysitting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/819888) by [Twisted_Slinky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Slinky/pseuds/Twisted_Slinky). 



> Originally I was not going to post this fic at all, but what the hell, here it is anyway. While it is technically finished, it has awkward flow issues and I just don't see myself going back to fix it anytime soon, if ever. 
> 
> The idea for this started as a chat between a friend and I after reading Uncle Crowley’s Adventures in Babysitting by Twisted_Slinky.
> 
> And yes, I wrote something cutesy with no porn. Weird, I know. *Christo* Nope, still me.

**Tuesday**

 

The bunker had been unusually quiet; Sam and Kevin were researching the volumes in the Men of Letters’ library, Dean was happily exploring the newly discovered garage, and Castiel was trying to filter through some of the chatter on angel radio when the entire building seemed to explode in sound. It was a sharp, buzzing noise that echoed throughout all of the rooms, sometimes in a single burst, other times in repetitive pulses.

 

Dean burst into the front room alongside the others, handgun drawn, “What the hell is that?

Are we under attack? Cas, can you tell where it’s coming from?”

 

Kevin rolls his eyes and says, calmly, “That’s your doorbell, genius.”

 

“Doorbell,” Dean shouts, still in fight response, “We have a doorbell?”

 

“Just, calm down, Dean,” Sam sighs. “Yes, we have a doorbell, but we don’t know that what’s on the other side of the door needs to be shot.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right, maybe it's just the friggin’ Avon lady with the new fall color palette. Dude, maybe she brought some lipstick samples! Come on! What are the odds that something not horrible has just come to pay us a visit, huh?”

 

Bitchface intact, Sam reaches for the handle as Dean plasters himself to the wall beside the door, gun at the ready. Better safe than sorry, Sam cracks the door open slowly. “What is it,” Dean hisses.

 

“Nothing, there’s nothing out there…” Sam starts, until his gaze drops about three feet to where a tiny, blonde haired girl, no more than eight, is standing with her hands on her hips and a suitcase beside her. 

 

“Oh. Well, uh, hey there. Are you lost, little lady,” Sam asks awkwardly as the others gather beside him.

 

“Don’t patronize me,” the girl says, shoving the handle of her pink wheelie at Sam. “My name is Tabitha and I'm not lost, mummy just dropped me off because she says I need to spend some quality time with my father,” to which all eyes turn immediately to Dean.

 

“What the hell? Why do you automatically assume it's me? Okay, don’t answer that. Shaddup.  So, um, Tabitha,” Dean says, kneeling down to the little girl's eye level. “What's your mother's name, sweetheart?”

 

“Yeah, because you would remember her name,” huffs Sam. Dean shoots him a death glare, before conceding that, yeah, his brother is probably right. Okay, definitely right. Whatever.

 

“My mother's name is Judith and my father's name is Fergus,” she responds primly.

 

Four voices simultaneously echo, “Fergus?”

 

“Bloody hell, you know that I hate when you call me that,” Crowley says, choosing that exact moment to wander in the room. “I much prefer King, or Sexy Beast, or….”

 

"Daddyyyyy," Tabitha squeals, running to Crowley and hugging him around his thighs, her face pressed against his hip. 

 

“I… What is it? It’s touching the suit. Get it off,” Crowley hisses in a panic.

 

**~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~**

 

The five men are seated at the table in the war room watching in silence as Tabitha daintily dips chocolate chip cookies into a glass of milk.

 

“How did she even know you were here,” Sam asks.

 

“Well, clearly she must have gotten one of my open house invitations. How the ever loving fu…,” Crowley starts.

 

“Fudge,” Dean supplies with a smirk. 

 

“How the ever loving fudge am I supposed to know,” snarls Crowley, trying to keep his composure. “Had I the ability to contact people on the outside, I can guarantee you that would not have been my first call.”

 

“Alright, knock it off,” interrupts Dean, “We can worry about how they found you later. The question is what are we going to do with her now that she’s here?” 

 

The only sound in the room is the quiet munch of cookies.

 

Finally Dean decides to treat this like they would any mission and he starts giving out assignments. He and Castiel head upstairs to make up one of the spare bedrooms. Sam, vegetable‐lover that he is, gets kitchen duty, and Kevin is off to queue up some cartoons on his tablet. Sam offered the use of his laptop, but Kevin simply said, “Dean uses your laptop,” and that discussion was over. 

 

Unfortunately for Crowley, this leaves him alone at the table with his daughter and no one to help buffer the conversation. Sure, Fergus McLeod had a son, but that doesn't mean that Crowley knows how to socialize with ankle biters. “So, Tabitha,” he starts, “How old are you? Five, ten?”

 

“Five? I’m not a baby. I’m eight years old,” she huffs. “How old are you?”

 

“352, give or take.” 

 

Tabitha nods, without question. Awkward silence has never been so loud.

 

“Well, um, what do you do to keep yourself busy these days?”

 

“Do you mean school?”

 

“Ah, school! Yes, what, um, what grade are you in?”

 

“I’m in third grade. My teachers say I’m very bright for my age.”

 

“Well of course you are; you have genetics on your side.”

 

Crowley tugs at his necktie, feeling literally stifled by the silence as Tabitha continues to stare at him. “Do you hear crickets,” he jokes. 

 

“I don’t hear anything,” she says seriously.

 

“Right, just me then. Well, let’s go see if Uncle Moose needs some help, shall we?”

 

“Okay,” Tabitha says happily, reaching out for him.

 

Crowley stares down for a moment before finally taking her tiny hand in his. The little girl starts to hum and swings their arms as they walk to the kitchen. 

 

**~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~**

 

After a traditional, if not incredibly awkward, family dinner and an hour in front of Kevin’s tablet, Tabitha’s eyes start to flutter closed. “I think someone’s ready for bed,” says Sam. Murmurs of agreement come from Dean and Cas.

 

“Crowley,” Sam says, staring at the man who is currently contemplating his glass of scotch.

 

“Hmmm…what? Were you saying something? I generally tend to drift off when you do that.”

 

 Sam’s jaw tightens but he keeps his voice pleasant. “I was saying that I think it’s time for Tabitha to call it a night.”

 

“Oh yes, yes, of course. Well done, mommy dearest, have at it.”

 

“Oh no,” chuckles Sam, “Considering that she is your daughter, I think it is only right that you have the honor of putting her to bed.”

 

Tabitha is reaching for Crowley before he can even think of a suitable defense. “Come on, Daddy, you have to tuck me in and tell me a story.” 

 

Crowley looks at the other men for some assistance, or at the very least, sympathy, but all he gets in return are smiles that are just a little too happy. “Monsters, the lot of you,” Crowley spits as he starts toward the staircase.

 

“I’m sleepy. Carry me,” Tabitha whines.

 

“Carry you…” Crowley starts, looking at the little girl.

 

“Yeah Crowley,” smirks Dean, “That’s what fathers do, they carry their daughters upstairs and tuck them in bed and read them a bedtime story.”

 

“Yes, and you would know that because no doubt that’s what your father did for you, Rainbow Brite,” Crowley says with a malicious grin.

 

Cas places a calming hand on Dean’s knee before he has the chance to say anything that would definitely not be child‐friendly. “Go put Tabitha to bed, Crowley.”

 

Crowley lets out a huff and turns to the girl. “Let me see your hands.” He inspects them closely as she holds them palms down. “Now turn them over. Alright, fine.” After determining that there are no foreign substances that will harm his suit, Crowley lifts Tabitha into his arms, straining his head away as she tries to snuggle into his neck.

 

Once upstairs with Tabitha safely under the covers, Crowley pulls over a chair and sits at her side, racking his brain for a suitable bedtime story. He’s going to have to improvise. He’s the King of Hell, dammit, he can do this.

 

“In a village there lived….”

 

“No, Daddy, it has to start with, ‘Once upon a time,’ that’s the rule.”

 

 “The rule,” Crowley sighs. “Fine, once upon a time, in a tiny village, there lived two brutish, ogre brothers. It was hard to even look upon them as their skin was a garish plaid. The larger of the two had chestnut hair that fell to his waist in a long braid...”

 

“Is this a real story or are you making it up,” Tabitha asks, sleepily.

 

“My darling, I don’t want to frighten you before bedtime, but I’m afraid this story is quite real. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the shorter brother never went anywhere without his clueless, but stunningly beautiful, blue‐eyed parrot perched atop his shoulder.”

 

“The brothers had recently taken in a small, but very intelligent hamster with a bit of an attitude problem. Their only saving grace was that they had secured the assistance of a handsome king in a finely tailored black suit.” Crowley turned, noting that the girl had been uncharacteristically quiet, to find that she was fast asleep. “Shame, we hadn’t even got to the best part. Maybe next  time.” Crowley stood, smoothed his suit jacket, and turned off the bedside lamp.

 

**Wednesday**

 

“Crowley. Kevin said you wanted to see me,” Castiel says warily.

 

“Ah, good, Castiel, here take this,” Crowley says, shoving a neatly printed piece of paper at the angel. “I need you to pop your feathery little ass over to Paris and pick up a few things.”

 

“First of all, Crowley, I am not your errand boy, secondly, even in my true form, there are no feathers on my ass. Besides, what could you possibly need that requires instantaneous travel to Europe?”

 

“Touchy. You know, I really thought Dean would have worked that stick out of your ass by now, especially judging from those noises emanating from your little love nest every night. Come on now, this isn't about me, think about the child. Have you seen the clothes that her mother sent with her? I was giving it some thought last night and, as my daughter, she requires something more befitting of her status than obnoxiously striped leggings and plastic headbands. There is a couture seamstress that specializes in children's wear who, let’s just say, owes me a favor.”

 

“The rest of us are very busy trying to formulate a plan to capture Metatron and restore the natural balance to heaven. I do not have time to ‘pop over’ to Paris so that you can play dress up with…”

 

“Daddy! Uncle Cas, it's time for tea! Look, I have hats for everyone,” Tabitha exclaims, gesturing at Kevin who is standing beside her, looking completely miserable in a sunny yellow hat with a white silk bow and an assortment of bright pink flowers.

 

 Crowley smiles triumphantly as the list is ripped from his hand and the rushing of wings signals Castiel’s exit.

 

“Hey, where'd Cas pop off to,” Dean asks, coming down the stairs. 

 

"Paris," says Crowley. “Now come along, you heathen, it's time for tea.” 

 

“Yeah, unless tea is code for whiskey, I think I'll pass.”

 

“You will not 'pass,' or I will tell Bullwinkle exactly what you and your angel boy toy have been using his conditioner for in the shower.”

 

“Son of a bitch.”

 

Crowley took the spot at the head of the table in the war room turned tea parlor. “Here, Daddy. I picked this one out special for you,” Tabitha says, placing a red silk hat with an obscenely wide brim and a cluster of perfect black feathers on his head and tilting it to just the perfect angle.

 

“It’s lovely, darling, thank you,” Crowley says with a charming smile.

 

 Dean grudgingly takes the seat next to Kevin, checking out the table that is spread with a teapot, a selection of mismatched mugs from their kitchen, and plates filled with tiny sandwiches and cookies. Sitting across the table was Sam, in full pout, sporting a lilac hat with an organza bow. Dean couldn't help but cackle that is until a large pink hat was plopped on his own head and the attached silk ribbon tied underneath his chin. Sam grinned in smug satisfaction. “Whatever Dude,” Dean said, reaching for a cookie. “You’re just jealous because I can totally rock this hat.” 

 

**Thursday**

 

Dean finished spreading the grape jelly onto Tabitha’s sandwich and is cutting it into quarters (triangles, not squares) when he decides that it is about time he and the girl had a heart to heart. 

 

“You know, Tabitha, by the time Sammy was your age, I had already taught him a lot of important life lessons.”

 

“What’s a life lesson,” the girl asks around a mouthful of peanut butter.

 

“Life lessons are important things that you need to know, but that they aren't going to teach you in school because they are too busy teaching you things that you will never use.”

 

“Alright, the first lesson that you need to learn is that boys are no good, filthy liars. And, no matter what they say, they never, ever just want to be friends. Got it?”  

 

Tabitha looks him dead in the eye and says, “You’re a boy. Does that make you a no good, filthy liar?”

 

“Well, no, I’m not a boy, I’m a man; that means…well, yeah, okay, yes, same rules apply, maybe worse, but that’s not the point.” Dean remembers Sam being far more accepting and less logically inquisitive at this age. “Son of a…biscuit.” 

 

**~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~**

 

“Kevin, be a lamb and fetch me another scotch,” Crowley says from the chair where is lounging.

 

“Bite me,” is all Kevin says before stomping out of the room.

 

“I’ll get it for you, Daddy,” Tabitha pops up and runs to the small bar that is set up in the corner of the library. 

 

Crowley watches with pride as she crosses the room with an old fashioned glass perfectly filled with the amber liquid. “Thank you, my darling, but don’t let me keep you from your work,” he says fondly.

 

Tabitha climbs back into one of the leather chairs with Sam sitting on the floor in front of her, typing away at the laptop balanced on his legs. His bangs have been pulled back and fastened with sparkling barrettes; he has short, braided pigtails with a pink flower on one and a yellow on the other and Tabitha is currently humming while securing any loose strands with tiny plastic clips all over his head.

 

“What do you think,” she asks once all of the clips are place.

 

“Let’s see,” Sam says, turning on the camera function on his laptop. He laughs out loud as he gets a look at his mane in all its ridiculous glory. “I think it’s beautiful,” he says, snapping a picture when her face presses up beside his in the frame. 

 

**~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~**

 

Being the only one in the bunker with no knowledge of rock, paper, scissors, bath duty that evening fell to Castiel. He followed Tabitha upstairs with the look of a man on his way to the gallows.

 

While they are gone, Dean is doing some research, yeah, that’s it, research, on the laptop while Sam has been staring at the same page in his book for five minutes.

 

“What’s up Sammy? I can hear you thinking all the way over here.”

 

 “Nothing, it’s just…they've been up there an awfully long time. Do you think someone should go check on them? Make sure Cas is okay?”

 

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Dude looked like he was ready to piss himself. You should go check it out.”

 

“Me? He’s your boyfriend. Why don’t you go?”

 

“He’s not my…. Because you’re the responsible adult, that’s why.” 

 

Dammit, it is kind of hard to argue with that logic. “Fine,” Sam grumbles.

 

 He knocks on the bathroom door before poking his head through. “Hey guys, how’s bath time go…ing…”The bathtub and much of the floor are covered in bubbles. Cas is sitting hunched in the tub on the far right, knees up to his chest. He’s still clad in his black dress pants, white shirt, and tie, although he did manage to roll up his sleeves. A tall crown of bubbles wavers perilously atop his head. Tabitha, in a bright orange polka dotted bathing suit is busy attacking him with a rubber ducky armada. Cas shoots Sam a panicked look that screams, “Help me!”  

 

“Okay, great, looks like you've got it all under control then,” Sam says, backing out swiftly, shutting the door behind him. 

 

“Everything okay,” Dean asks when Sam comes down the stairs.

 

“Your not‐boyfriend’s going to smite me in my sleep,” Sam says with a grin.

 

**Friday**

 

Dean is heading for the kitchen and some much needed coffee when he comes across Tabitha dragging a cast iron skillet across the floor. “Whatcha doing, squirt?”

 

“We’re playing _Tangled_ ,” she says gleefully.  “Kevin is Rapunzel and I’m Flynn, because Uncle Sammy said not to play into gender stereotypes.”

 

“Of course he did,” Dean sighs, following her into the living room. 

 

Kevin is sitting on the floor in a shimmering pink and purple dress that is about ready to split at the seams. There is a blonde wig on his head that is at least six feet long, which Tabitha is currently working into a braid. 

 

“Not. One. Word,” Kevin growls, “Or BustyAsianBeauties.com will suffer an immediate and catastrophic failure.”

 

It takes a lot of effort on his part, but Dean somehow manages to restrain his snark, holding his hands up and backing away slowly with a grin. Before he exits the room he stops and says, “Hey Tabitha, number 42?”

 

“Always be Batman,” Tabitha replies without missing a beat. 

 

“Always be Batman,” Dean confirms with a smile.

**~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~**

 

Crowley, having vastly improved upon his bedside manner, had actually started to look forward to Tabitha’s little bedtime ritual. Sam would make hot chocolate for her, Kevin, and Dean and hot tea for himself, Cas, and Crowley, which they would then gather and drink in the library. Once Tabitha was finished, she made her rounds of the room, giving everyone a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and an “I love you.” Crowley would then lift her and carry her up the stairs, asking her what type of story she wanted to hear. At some point he had even stopped checking her hands for grime before letting her touch the suit. Yes, Crowley was definitely in trouble.

 

**Saturday**

 

“The hell is that noise,” Dean grumbles as he wanders into the living area. “Tryin’ to sleep and it sounds like a damn stampede.” But even Dean’s bad mood can’t hold when he catches sight of Sam, literally prancing around the bunker with Tabitha perched on his shoulders squealing, “Moose rides!”

 

“Big softie,” Dean grins. “Hey, Padawan, number 21?” 

 

“Always hit on soft 17,” the girl screeches as Sam pretends they are going to run into a low‐hanging light fixture.

 

“Yeah,” Dean thinks, with a smile, as he heads back to bed, “Yoda, I definitely am.”

 

**~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~**

 

“I just don’t like it,” Dean whines from his spot on the floor beside Cas. “Hands are one thing, but, dude, the feet…”

 

“I don’t see why you are so upset, Dean,” Cas says, wiggling his still‐tacky toes. “At least the color she chose for you is a perfect complement to your skin tone. If I’m to be honest, I find that my shade is a little too purple for my complexion.”

 

Crowley looks up from watching Tabitha, who is currently paining his fingernails a deep, blood red.  “Fascinating. And here I always thought Squirrel was the girl in your relationship.” 

 

 “I’m not the girl,” Dean pouts as he holds out his right hand. “Huh, that really is a good color for me, now that you mention it.”

 

**~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~**

 

Tabitha, in a pair of designer denim overalls, hair pulled up and wrapped in a pink bandanna, is sitting cross‐legged on Dean’s jacket on the floor of the garage while he is busy working under the Impala’s hood.

 

Dean looks at her and claps his hands, “Alright, it’s leaking from the oil pan, so what we are going to do is replace the gasket. Got it?”

 

“Got it.”

 

“Good. Now, what I’m doing here is raising the motor…”

 

“Why don’t you just unbolt the pan and drop it,” Kevin asks, munching on an apple as he leans over the engine.

 

“Because it won’t drop low enough to clear the main caps,” Tabitha says, with a clearly implied “duh,” before returning her attention to the castle she’s building from Dean’s ratchet set.

 

Dean makes no move to hide it as he wipes away a tear of pride with a grease‐stained, pink‐polished fingertip.

 

**Sunday**

 

Sunday morning Dean, in a t‐shirt and pajama bottoms, followed by Cas, bundled in Dean’s plush bathrobe, wander into the kitchen to find Sam humming while meticulously crafting pancake batter into what appear to be horses.

 

Sam, noticing that he has an audience, flushes with embarrassment and turns his attention back to the sizzling griddle. “She wanted ponies,” he mumbles. 

 

“I’m hurt, Sammy. You never made me pony pancakes,” Dean pouts as he passes Cas his morning coffee. “Hey, do you think you could make me one shaped like the Impala?” Sam turns and starts to flip off his brother before remembering that they are now in a G‐rated zone and quickly shifts to a curt wave. 

 

**~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~**

 

That afternoon, Dean hears the sound of classical music filtering through the bunker. He’s halfway down the stairs when he sees that the table and chairs have been pushed neatly to the side and Cas is waltzing around the room with an impressive amount of finesse, considering that his dance partner is a giggling eight year old perched atop his dress shoes. Dean hangs back and watches the pair with a fond smile, but he doesn't go unnoticed for long.

 

“Hello Dean, Cas says with a shy smile. “I’m so glad to see that you were invited to the Royal Unicorn Ball.” 

 

“The Royal Unicorn…yeah, well, I wasn't so much invited, I’m more of a ball crasher…uh…that’s not…” Dean stammers as Castiel tilts his head in that way of his that Dean definitely does not call adorable.

 

“Of course you’re invited, silly,” Tabitha giggles as Cas twirls her. “Come dance with me and Uncle Cas” she grins, offering him her tiny hand.

 

“I’m not sure I can compete with Uncle Cas,” Dean winks as he bows before taking her hand and lifting her swiftly in the air until her legs are wrapped around his hip. Castiel starts to step back, but Dean wraps his free hand around Cas’ wrist. “Oh no you don’t,” he says, pulling Cas tight to his other side. “I believe Lady Tabitha said that I was supposed to dance with both of you,” Dean says with a grin. 

 

Castiel, angel of the lord, blushes fiercely before wrapping his left arm around Dean’s waist and resting his right hand gently on Tabitha’s back. 

 

Crowley saunters into the kitchen to find Sam and Kevin standing at the doorway peering into the living room. “Playing voyeur with your own brother, Moose? Kinky. I guess maybe all of  those fan fiction writers had your number after all.”

 

“Shhhhhhh,” is the harsh response he gets back from the two men.

 

“I’m sorry, did you just shush the King of Hell?”

 

“Shut up and look,” Kevin says, pushing Crowley closer to the door.

 

“Bollocks,” Crowley snorts, “I’m never going to get all of their rainbow pride sparkles off of her.”

 

“Shut up Crowley,” Sam says with a wide smile as he holds his phone, recording the rare moment of sheer happiness on his brother’s face.

 

**~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~**

 

Tabitha is nestled under the covers as Crowley sits on the side of her bed engrossed in his own story, “…and then Growley pounced on the evil, green‐eyed hunter and used his femur as a chew toy.” Soft, steady breathing is the only sound in the room and Crowley stands up quietly and pulls the covers up, tucking them under the girl’s chin and brushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear before turning off the bedside lamp. “Goodnight, love,” he murmurs.

 

**Monday**

 

Late in the afternoon the silence in the bunker is shattered by multiple jabs to the door buzzer. Sam yells from the library, “You gonna get that, Dean?”

 

“No way man, not after the stork dropped off a kid last time. You open it.”

 

“Jesus, you're such a child,” Sam mutters, passing his brother to open the door.

 

“I know you are but what am I,” Dean says, because he’s witty like that. Cue bitchface 34.

 

Opening the door, Sam is met by a tall woman with full red lips, dark sunglasses, and golden brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. “Uh, can I help you,” asks Sam.

 

The woman gives Sam a lascivious once over, licking her lips. “Oh, I'm sure there are a lot of things you can do to help me,” she purrs. “My name is Judith. I'm here to pick up my daughter.”

 

“You're...oh. You're here for Tabitha,” Sam says, just as Crowley and his daughter walk into the room.  

 

 “Mummy,” Tabitha shrieks, letting go of Crowley’s hand and running to give her an excited hug.

 

“Hello Tabby, dear, have you been enjoying your time with your father?”

 

“Yes! I've had so much fun with Daddy and Uncle Dean and Uncle Sam and Uncle Cas and we had a tea party and I helped fix the Impala and Uncle Kevin was Rapunzel and…and…”

 

“Whoa, take a breath there, shortstack,” Dean chuckles. “Why don’t you and Uncle Kevin go up to your room and get your things, okay?”

 

“Okay,” she says happily, grabbing Kevin by the wrist and dragging him up the stairs.

 

The tension in the room is palpable as mother and father continue to engage in a dagger staring competition.

 

“Fergus.”

 

“Judith.” 

 

“I trust you've enjoyed your bonding time with our daughter?”

 

“Of course, why wouldn't I? She’s a beautiful, smart, charming little lady. Must get that from my side. Although I’m still not sure what the point was of this whole exercise.”

 

“Oh Crowley, I’m hurt,” Judith says with a pout. “You make it sound like I had some sort of ulterior motive in bringing her here.”

 

“There’s always an ulterior motive, love.”

 

“She had begun to ask questions about her father,” Judith starts. “I had been able to put her off for some time, but you may have noticed, she can be quite…obstinate. She gets that from your side as well. At any rate, I thought that by actually spending some time with you she would realize that she wasn't missing anything. I’m starting to understand that may have been a poor assumption on my part.”

 

“I’m all packed,” Tabitha says, prancing down the stairs.

 

“Alright, sweetheart,” says Judith, “We need to get going. I think it’s time to say your goodbyes.”

 

“Yes, Mummy,” says Tabitha somberly, seeming to realize that this really is goodbye.

 

Tabitha turns to Kevin first. He tries to get away with a farewell fist bump but she’s having no part of that and hugs him tight around the waist. He gives her an awkward but sweet pat on the back before she pulls away and digs into her little purse. “Here,” she says, holding out a tiny clenched fist, passing him a bottle of fuchsia nail polish. “Remember to put on two coats but let it dry in between.” 

 

“I will remember that. Thank you, Tabitha,” Kevin says softly.

 

Even kneeling on the floor, Sam still towers over the girl. “Bye Uncle Sammy,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck.

 

“Bye princess,” he says. “You be a good girl and study hard, okay?”

 

“I will, I promise,” she says, reaching into her purse again. Before Sam realizes what has happened, she has his bangs pulled back and clipped into one of her sparkly barrettes. “That way you can see ‘cause your hair won’t be in your eyes.”

 

“That…that’s perfect. Thank you,” he says, eyes tearing up as he gives her another gentle moose hug.

 

 Castiel is next in line and Dean halfway expects him to pull a disappearing act, but the angel holds his ground and drops to his knees for his goodbye. “I want you to have this, Uncle Cas,” she says, holding out a bright blue rubber ducky. “And this one too,” she says, pulling out a green one. “That way you and Uncle Dean can play duck wars together in the tub. I even left you the bubble bath.”

 

Castiel’s face has turned a dangerous shade of crimson, not helped by the laughter and snorts around him, but he holds the ducks against his heart. “Thank you, Tabitha. I will always cherish them,” he says honestly. This gets him a hug and he closes his eyes, cradling the little girl against him.

 

Dean has already started to give himself a mental pep talk, because he is his father’s son and there will be no crying, dammit. He takes a deep breath and kneels in front of Tabitha, looking her square in the eye. “Alright munchkin, number 24?”

 

“Han shot first.”

 

“Bingo. Number three?”

 

“Nothing says love like pie.”

 

“Right. Now, really important, number seven?”

 

 “If all else fails, kick ‘em in the ‘nads.”

 

“Good girl,” Dean beams before pulling her into a hug. “Okay,” he says, pulling back slightly, “Lay it on me.”

 

“Lay what on you,” she giggles.

 

“You've been spending too much time with Uncle Cas. Come on, those goofballs all got a present, what about me,” he whines, pointing at her purse. 

 

“Close your eyes,” she says with a mischievous grin. 

 

Dean gives an exaggerated sigh, but stays on his knees with his eyes closed. He smells a trace of sweet perfume and motor oil right before he feels something being tied around his head.

 

“You can open them now,” Tabitha says.

 

Dean feels around at the fabric covering his hair, “What is it?”

 

“Here,” says Sam, helpful brother that he is, taking a picture with his phone and turning it so Dean can see. It’s the pink bandanna Tabitha was wearing when they worked on the Impala.  

 

Now, Dean’s not sure when he got dosed with estrogen, but it clearly happened because here he was, ridiculously happy to be wearing a pink bandanna and ready to burst into a puddle of tears. He’s definitely going to need Sam to go buy him some maxi pads. “It’s perfect, squirt. I love it,” he manages to choke out before giving her another tight hug.

 

She has left Crowley for the end and he is keenly aware of all the eyes in the room upon them. “Well, my darling,” he says kneeling, “This is goodbye, then. I have to admit that our little visit hasn't been completely horrible.” 

 

“I love you too, Daddy,” she says, burrowing her face against his chest as he wraps his arms around her. 

 

“Come now,” Crowley coughs, because he is definitely not choking up, “I thought we were past this. You’re going to get snot all over my tie.” He takes his the red handkerchief and gently wipes away the tears on her cheeks before tucking it into her pocket.

 

“I didn't forget about your present,” she sniffs. “I left it in the library so you can have it later.”

 

“I’m looking forward to it. I have a present for you, as well,” Crowley says, taking an ornate leather‐bound book from Castiel. “This is very special, Tabitha. This book contains all of the stories that I have told you since you have been here, handwritten by an angel, no less. It’s the only one of its kind in existence.”

 

Tabitha takes the book and hugs it to her chest. “It’s wonderful,” she whispers and throws herself into his arms.

 

Crowley wraps his fingers in her blonde curls and tries to memorize the feeling of her breath against his cheek. “There is something else very important in that book,” Crowley whispers in her ear. “If you ever need me…need my help, you read the passage on the very last page out loud and I will hear you, no matter where you are or where I am. Understand?”

 

She nods and whispers, “I understand,” before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“As touching as this is, we really need to be going, Tabby,” says Judith, shattering the moment.  

 

Sam and Cas help load all of Tabitha’s newly acquired wardrobe into the trunk of Judith’s car, then it’s time for one last round of hugs before the men are left waving goodbye as the car pulls away. Solemnly, they walk back into the bunker and are met with a deafening silence. It seems so empty and quiet, as if someone had taken all of the life from it. They are still standing in the entryway, distinctly not making eye contact with one another, until Dean breaks the silence. “Who wants to shoot something? I’m going downstairs to the firing range.” 

 

 The idea is met with a chorus of approval. “Yes,” says Sam. “Guns. Guns are great, let’s go.”

Even Kevin and Cas, who typically aren't that interested in firearms, are anxious to go.

 

“What about you, Crowley,” Dean says. “I ain't giving you a gun, but I won’t use you for target practice either.”

 

“Appealing as that may be, I think I will pass, gentlemen. I’ll be in the library, should one of you shoot out an eye or something equally exciting.”

 

As the rest of the men head downstairs, Crowley pushes open the heavy door to the library. He sees it the moment he enters the room. Taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders, Crowley walks over to the leather wingback that he has claimed for his own. Sat on top of the cushion is his red silk hat from the tea party. He lifts the hat from the chair, stroking the fabric on the brim before placing it on his head and tilting it to just the right angle. On the small table beside his chair was a flowery teapot and cup alongside his favorite bottle of scotch. Pouring a healthy dose into the delicate cup, Crowley sits down in his chair, takes a sip, and lets his mind wander to bedtime stories.

 

 

 


End file.
